King

by Dee, L J

  King

  I was being ‘Smith’ in the cafe and you can’t punish me for that. Your rules, not mine.

  Smith ;)

  I deleted the received and sent emails just in case of prying eyes as my computer was always open, and disappeared, hailing a taxi to Kings house where I sat on the cold stone steps of the huge Victorian town house, wondering what the hell I had gotten myself into.

  I’m at your house x

  I guessed even Jason would be surprised at the speed of that, but I knew he was getting used to my impatience. I couldn’t wait any longer, there was no point. I couldn’t concentrate at work, unable to focus on anything else and I knew when I’d taken whatever punishment he deemed suitable, I would be sated and satisfied and all being well, basking in the afterglow of multiple orgasms from the skilled lover I had started to enjoy a little too much. I didn’t receive a text back, but it was the middle of the working day, so what the hell did I expect. The man was responsible for running King Marketing and for all I knew he could be absolutely anywhere.

  ‘Atonement’. The word resonated in my brain as memories of the first and only other time I’d heard it, raced through my mind. I had been four years old and it was my second day at Newtown Primary School. It was the first time I had ever left the safety and sanctuary of the children’s home and I had been utterly terrified. The place seemed huge and overwhelming and I didn’t know a single soul in my class. Some of the children from the home went to the school, but they were all in the years above me and although they seemed to like it, I felt alone, out of place, and different to the other kids. The only saving grace and my personal ray of sunshine was Franny Hall, a chubby little girl with sticky out ears, an angelic smile and row upon row of soft blonde curls, who had offered me a seat next to her on my very first day. I suspected Franny harboured the same fears and insecurity about school as I did, and so we played and laughed through those first tentative hours and stuck together like glue.

  I’d been daydreaming in afternoon story time on that fateful second day when the fearsome Mrs Black had asked me a question. Franny in her kindness, whispered the answer to me and I shouted it out as Mrs Black strode purposefully towards me with a face like thunder and all but dragged me to my feet. “Did Franny Hall tell you that answer?” She had scowled at me as I stood trembling and shaking my head. Mrs Black, with the pinched face and evil eyes, decided to make an example of Charlotte Smith, daydreamer and liar, and pulled me to the front of the class, picking me up and putting me in the waste paper basket. “You are a naughty girl Charlotte Smith, and this is your atonement. You will stand in that bin with the rest of the rubbish until I say otherwise”. I remembered the terrifying harshness of her words even now. All the class with the exception of my chubby little friend were laughing and pointing, as I stood there shaking and red-faced, forced to make amends for my misbehaviour. The feeling had been abhorrent and as far as I was concerned, utterly unjustified. My confidence was already wavering, and on that day, the vile Mrs Black had shattered it completely. For the following two nights I had wet the bed, and when Hannah Devey saw me sitting in the corner of the children’s home playroom on a rainy Thursday after school, quiet, withdrawn and nothing like the bubbly little bundle of energy she was used to, she had asked me what was wrong.

  I loved Hannah Devey, she was my favourite of the helpers that would come into the home a couple of times a week, and with her blue spiked hair and soft grey eyes, I had thought her the most beautiful, exotic creature I had ever seen. Her nickname was Satan, but I didn’t know what that meant, and to me she was the kindest, funniest grown-up playmate a little girl could have. She always took the time to play with me, not stick by the pool table shooting pockets with the other helpers and she called me ‘chuckles’ which always made me laugh. Hannah Devey had worn a collar, I smiled to myself, adjusting my numbing bottom on the cold stone steps and toying with my necklace. In hindsight, it was probably more of a punk fashion statement than a sexual one. Hannah Devey was the least likely submissive I could ever imagine.

  It was a point she had proved the following day when she marched into my classroom in the middle of the afternoon, demanding to speak to Mrs Black in the corridor outside. The spiteful old teacher had left the door open as she followed Hannah out, probably to keep one ear on her unruly bunch of four year olds. What it actually meant, was that me and twenty five schoolmates had heard Hannah Devey tear an absolute strip off the mean Mrs Black and threaten to “batter her senseless” if she picked on me again. At four years old I didn’t understand exactly what she meant, but soon realised when Mrs Black returned to read us a story, from her pasty white skin and red rimmed eyes, that a “battering” would not be a good thing.

  Hannah Devey’s verbal attack succeeded in achieving two things. Mrs Black largely left me alone and so did everyone else. Word soon spread that “Charlotte’s friend” had shouted at the teacher and I became instantly cool by association. There wasn’t a child at Newtown Primary School who would dare bully me or Franny, and my transition into education had thus been easier than I’d anticipated. Hannah Devey, had also taught me a very valuable lesson, and it was one I never forgot. A little bit of attitude could go a very long way, and at four years old I’d already decided that no one would ever treat me like that again without a fight.

  I never saw her after that day. The carers told me she had left, but as I thought about it now, I suspect she was probably fired for the little stunt she’d pulled in my defence. I retrieved my phone to check it. No text. I imagined that whatever Hannah Devey, ‘Satan’ to her friends, was doing now, that she would be doing it successfully. She had kindness, beauty, intelligence and a fierce sense of moral justice, and I would always be grateful for her letting my scared and lonely four year old self know, that I might not have a Mummy or a Daddy, but someone had my back and I wasn’t alone.

  I sighed leaning back against the huge front door. It had been well over an hour since I’d sent the message and there was still no word, just a couple of odd looks from strangers passing by and Jason’s neighbour, who had gone to great lengths to avoid eye contact after a quick initial assessment to ensure I wasn’t a tramp. I looked up quickly as the familiar black car pulled up and stood, following Jason as he walked straight past me without looking, and into the house. I shut the door behind me and I suddenly felt like crying as a strange, unexpected wave of relief tinged with fear, ran through me.

  “So you couldn’t wait then” he said, his face utterly unreadable as I shook my head, following him silently, straight upstairs into the bedroom. “Take off your clothes” he said without looking at my face, but undoubtedly noticing the slight tremble that ran through my fingers as I did what he asked. At that moment, I wanted nothing more on earth than to please him, take my punishment and make everything OK again, and I needed it more than my next breath. I liked the idea that he could take away my shame through penance. It only served to increase the immense power I had already afforded him and he smiled gently, seeming to read my thoughts.

  “You look upset Charlotte, are you OK?” I smiled and nodded. “I’m sorry Jason, I want you to make it right again” I said as he nodded, tipping his head, regarding me closely before moving nearer and stroking a gentle finger down my cheek as I leaned into the affectionate gesture. “You disappointed me by coming when I had ordered you not to Charlotte. I am going to spank you and then you will be forgiven, and I hope you will learn your lesson and not disappoint me again”. I nodded. The truth was, I could barely wait, not only to feel better but because I had enjoyed it tremendously last time and was already wet with anticipation, the nerves and the fear only adding to my need. It was an intoxicating mind game and when played with the beautiful and commanding presence of Jason King, utterly addictive.

  I wasn’t sure where he’d want me but hoped it would be on his lap, I craved the closeness, the intimacy and the proximity as I watched him walk to the dresser, removing the leather paddle I had encountered a
few days ago and returning to stand before me. “Undress me” he growled, my shaky fingers reaching first for his jacket that I slipped from his shoulders and then his tie, looking up at him apologetically as I fumbled around, trying to loosen the large knot in the blue silk that matched his eyes exactly. There was an almost imperceptible smile playing around his mouth and I knew he was enjoying the moment as I pulled off the tie, gently unbuttoning his shirt, removing platinum and onyx cufflinks and moving to place them on the dresser next to the paddle, before sliding the crisp white cotton down his arms and revealing his magnificent tanned, cut torso.

  I gasped slightly, still trembling as I undid his belt and trousers, unable to ignore, and inwardly ecstatic at the huge bulge that nestled there impatiently, kneeling to ease his trousers down his legs, slipping them over his feet before I removed his shoes and socks, slowly one by one, looking up at him and smiling from my subservient position on the floor. He almost smiled back, lip curving softly before he stopped himself, intense eyes blazing into mine as I stood, tracing my fingers lightly under the band of his boxer shorts. “No” he said firmly, gripping my hand, my stomach somersaulting as he kept hold of me, retrieving the paddle and sitting on the edge of the bed before pulling me onto his lap.

  I gasped in anticipation and relief, enjoying the warmth and closeness of our naked skin. “This warrants 12 spanks with the paddle” he said, his voice firm and low and dripping with undeniable desire, which fuelled my arousal as he ran a firm hand over the soft flesh of my buttocks before smacking me hard. I gasped again, loudly in shock and surprise at the force of the blow as the leather hit my skin. The breadth of pain was bigger than it had been with his hand, the dull thud of the paddle ringing out across the room as the nerve endings fired to life beneath it. It smarted, but the pain wasn’t harder than I could deal with, and the strange mix of pleasure was there again, intensifying as he ran his fingers softly over the area before it came again. It was lower down on my buttocks and felt absolutely wonderful as I absorbed myself in the feelings, in Jason and his unique righting of my perceived wrongdoing. As the blows came, followed by the sensations of his gentle hands, I was lost, reeling in a sea of emotions and sensations I was finding a truly heady combination, and after the fifth blow I lost count. My body was hot and on fire, my core pulsing with need and knowing instinctively that I was growing incredibly wet for him.

  My skin was tingling and the warmth spread through me as I cried out in agony and ecstasy, desperate for him to touch my pussy that was pulsing as I pushed against him. Last time I had been spanked he had stroked my clit once, so deliciously it had sent me to the edge, but tonight his concentration was solely on delivering my amazingly erotic retribution and it looked like he was making me wait. I turned to look up at him, slightly delirious, consumed by pleasure and when I saw his face, a thin film of sweat on his brow, etched in satisfaction and arousal I moaned out loud as he stroked my hair, smiling down at me. I hadn’t known but I had just received my last blow, I had paid my penance and now the real fun would start and I couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped my lips. “Do you feel better Charlotte?” and I sighed loudly in relief and gratitude, nodding as he flipped me over and sat me on his lap, my backside hot and red, pulsing with heat and the gentle pain he had unleashed with the hard leather. “Does it hurt?” “A little” I smiled as he pulled me to him, devouring my mouth in a kiss so passionate it took my breath away, as I melted against his hot firm lips and delicious expert tongue. “I’m sorry Jason” I whispered as he pulled away gently, shaking his head and smiling gently. “It’s OK Charlotte, you have taken your punishment well, and now I’m going to fuck you hard, but first I need to see just how much you enjoyed that spanking” he grinned, running a firm hand between my thighs as I opened my legs to accommodate it.

  I moaned as his fingers stroked across my clit, spreading the wetness that covered the surrounding skin. It was clear that I enjoyed my punishments a little too much, the low rumble in his throat betraying that he liked that, as he touched me repeatedly. “You are so, so wet” he growled as I shuddered under his experienced touch, flushing and slightly embarrassed at the revelation as he chuckled gently, lifting me off his lap and standing by the bed. “Get on all fours” he demanded as I moaned, already missing his fingers and desperate for him to continue his delicious assault on my pussy. “Mmmmm” he growled, running his fingers softly across my buttocks. “Your arse is wonderfully pink, you look beautiful Baby” he said, dipping his fingers blissfully inside me as I cried out. “So wet and so tight” he purred, causing me to dive forward as he plunged his cock deeply and suddenly inside me in an unexpected thrust I was unprepared for, and I struggled to regain my balance. “ Fuck me Jason” I cried out, loving the feel of him from this angle, his huge, wide shaft filling every inch of me as my muscles clenched around him and he obliged, pushing to the hilt, harder and faster, as I spiralled out of control, consumed in a black hole of pure pleasure, lost in desire and heady arousal.

  I was screaming his name over and over again, my heart and every cell in my body bursting with joy, my brain a myriad of emotions I couldn’t untangle as he pounded into me, until I exploded in a heat fuelled surge of pleasure that enveloped me from head to toe. I was crying out, animalistic sounds and noises I didn’t recognise, guttural mutterings from low in my throat, begging his forgiveness as he pinched my nipples, rolling out the pleasure until finally after a few long, hard wonderful minutes, it began to slowly subside. “Turn around” he ordered “and open your mouth” as I shakily did as he asked, utterly boneless, my lips parted wide as he held his cock gloriously against them. “I want you to swallow every drop of my cum” he growled, spurting his hot liquid onto my tongue as I lapped it up, eager for everything that this beautiful, wonderful man was giving me, before collapsing back on the bed in a sated, exhausted heap, realising just how hard I had fallen for Jason King and his unique style of domination.

  He pulled me tightly against his chest, kissing my head, stroking my skin as I shivered deliciously under his touch. “That was incredible Charlotte” he whispered as I nodded in response, so utterly overcome that I was barely able to make a sound.

  “You seemed upset when I saw you in the cafe and I mentioned atonement. It surprised me when you came here so quickly” he said as I snuggled against him, relishing the closeness and the intimacy his forgiveness had granted me. “Yes” I smiled “It’s a long time since I’ve heard the word. Thankfully now it has much nicer connotations than it did before. I felt really bad about what had happened. I just wanted to please you, to feel you. I needed you to let me know it was OK” I admitted honestly, still taken aback at the strength of my feelings about displeasing him, and how much it had churned me up inside. He chuckled gently, cupping my face in his hands and kissing me deeply. “I know you took it badly. It was an extreme response. For someone who’s new to this, you are proving to be a very good submissive” he smiled as a happy surge of pride rose inside me again, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

  “Why did the word ‘atonement’ have negative connotations for you?” he asked gently as I recalled the story of Hannah Devey, saviour of my school career and the woman largely responsible for instilling my ‘take no shit’ attitude, twenty one years earlier. He listened intently to my tale and I was warmed by the look of concern as I described my fate at the hands of Mrs Black, smiling as I finished and hugging me tightly, and I felt that we were close and bonded as my heart reached out to his.

  “Are there any other words or situations that have negative connotations for you, that could act as triggers?” he asked as I finished my story. I mulled it over for a while. I didn’t have too many hang ups, my experiences with men hadn’t been quite as widespread as I’d hoped for by my age, largely dictated by the amount of time I’d spent working in the last nine years since I left school, but there was definitely one. I nodded, gazing up at him. “I don’t like the word ‘whore’” I smiled, as he held my gaze, frowning sli
ghtly before his trademark smirk lit the side of his mouth and my heart flipped. “That’s a shame, I like that word, it’s nicely demeaning and humiliating and I can’t think of anything better than calling you ‘my gorgeous little whore’ when you’re down on your knees sucking my cock” he said, raising his eyebrows, awaiting my reaction, which spilled out uncontrollably. Far from annoying me which I assumed it would, his open revelation made me giggle and I couldn’t prevent the small snigger that burst forth from my lips as I looked into his beautiful blue eyes. The thought of sucking his glorious cock, hit me right between my legs in the most delicious sensation imaginable, whatever he might happen to be calling me at the time.

  “Well that’s very honest” I smiled up at him as he winked at me. “I have no intention of ever being anything else with you Charlotte” he smiled. “Tell me why you don’t like the word ‘whore’”. I swallowed hard, realising this bonding and honesty was an important part of what we had. I wasn’t even sure I would hate the word coming from his lips if the gentle pulsing in my pussy was anything to go by when he just said it, but he wouldn’t take being fobbed off, so I bit the bullet. Who knows? Jason King might be able to help me associate even that word with a positive experience, it had worked for ‘atonement’. Like therapy through submission, and I smiled at the thought. It was very possible that this amazing man could even exorcise some minor demons while making me come like a train.